


The Foot Massage and the Anthropologist

by Vera



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: First Times, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 10:46:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/797715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vera/pseuds/Vera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Foot massages are a documented mating ritual.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Foot Massage and the Anthropologist

## The Foot Massage and the Anthropologist

#### by Vera

Author's website: <http://copracat.livejournal.com>  
  
Written in 1998 but not posted to the archive until now.  
  
This story is a sequel to: 

* * *

These were the best times, Blair thought as he closed the fridge door, sitting at home, kicking back, good company, bad TV and beer. 

He walked back to the couch and handed Jim a brew, dropped onto the couch and swung his feet up. Jim gave him a look. Blair wiggled his toes. "Hey, no shoes. My feet are so clean you eat off them." 

Jim grimaced, "I'll take the plates", but didn't insist on Blair moving his feet. Blair smiled and snuggled more comfortable, knees bent so he didn't get too far into Jim's space on the couch. Jim smacked his knee, without force. "Stop wriggling. Are you here to watch TV or to rhumba?" 

About two thirds of the way through the movie, Blair realised that he'd stretched out his legs, his feet were propped on Jim's thighs and Jim was massaging his feet. He jerked a little in surprise, but instead of letting him go, Jim held on to him and increased the pressure of his massage. 

It was then that Blair stopped concentrating on the movie. 

Jim's hands were spreading well-being from his feet up. Blair's brain was sending confusion and shock down. Where they met, interesting things were happening. 

Blair studied Jim closely. He appeared to be absorbed in the movie. He looked relaxed and completely unconcerned. He didn't seem to notice that he was playing with a Blair's feet. 

Blair tried to think logically and not act on an instinct that could be very wrong. He tried to list enough evidence to support his now very strong desire to kiss Jim senseless. 

Jim welcomed Blair into his home. Ok, Jim didn't kick his ass out. Jim practically lived in Blair's personal space. Jim touched him, although in a mostly manly way. A lot. Jim liked doing stuff with him. Jim called him pet names. All good signs for intimacy. All good signs for considering someone your best friend. 

The problem he couldn't yet resolve was that in his experience, guys just didn't beat around the bush with other guys. Maybe they'd beat you off in the bushes. Ouch. Where do these bad puns come from? he asked himself. 

You saw a guy you liked, you asked, he said yes or no. Easy, straightforward, fast. Jim treated him more like a pet, like a puppy he was very fond of. Maybe what he was doing now. Rubbing his thumbs firmly into Blair's heel, was just ear scratching, a belly rub. He wondered if he could get Jim to rub his belly. 

Okay, Blair thought, status check. I'm lying on the couch, watching TV, having my feet massaged and sporting a huge woody. So far, it feels like the penultimate stage of a successful pizza and TV date. He looked down his body. His erection didn't seem so noticeable from this angle, but he knew it was a different view from Jim's angle. He had to take action. He couldn't just lie here until Jim looked around and noticed. That would be so bad. If he could just slip his feet off Jim's lap and out of Jim's hands without Jim noticing all would be well. 

With a stealth and steadiness that wasn't often in evidence, Blair gently lifted his feet and tried to pull them off Jim's lap. The foot closest to the back of the couch was released. The other began to receive the attention of two hands. Blair studied his new position. One leg out straight, its foot held captive, the other leg bent, hard on way more obvious than it had been before. 

Although, he thought, it could just look like a fold in my trousers. Yeah, right. 

Finally, a previously ignored part of his brain, the part that wasn't quietly freaking out, asked a very good question. Why was Jim rubbing his foot? 

Good question, thought Blair. Jim appeared to be concentrating on the movie and doing the foot thing unconsciously. Experimental evidence was called for. Blair wiggled his toes. Jim shifted his massage to Blair's toes. 

Blair angled his foot towards Jim's groin. No response. He tried shifting his foot away from Jim's body. It was shifted back, to rest closer to Jim than before. 

Well. 

He looked at Jim's face and caught the tiniest twitch at the edge of Jim's mouth. Could just be a twitch. Could just be some stone-faced, hard-ass cop trying to keep a lid on his amusement. Jim was teasing him. The bastard. It's taste of your own medicine time, Jim. 

"You know, Jim..." 

Jim looked over. Blair looked at his hands and hoped he wasn't blushing. 

"What, Chief?" 

"Foot massages are a documented mating ritual." 

Jim didn't look away from the television, or let go of Blair's feet. "Really?" he said, rubbing Blair's feet a little firmer than before. 

"Yeah. Foot or shoulder and neck massages are two of the most popular ways of starting to get close to someone. A massage combines implications of sex," Blair paused briefly, "and intimacy with the appearance of being a nurturing, caring person, while both initiating physical contact and limiting that contact to safe zones. As well, massages are meant to relax and to give safe, physical pleasure. One or the other can always back off without losing face, unlike, say a kiss or a hug. I mean, at the foot or shoulder massage stage no-one has committed publicly to a course of action. It could just be, you know, friendly." 

"I see." Jim looked thoughtful while he carefully rubbed Blair's toes, then the ball of his foot. "So," he said, running strong fingers down the arch, "in this ritual, what's the next step?" 

"Huh?" said Blair, unprepared. He tried to say something but his usual loquaciousness had taken a sudden vacation and was now half way to South Beach, Miami. 

"If the masseur felt confident that he, or she, wasn't going to lose face and could safely move on to, um, less safe zones, what should he, or she, do next, Professor?" 

"Ah." 

"You know, Chief, since we're sharing stories here, they say the size of a man's feet reflect the size of his penis." Jim was stroking the captured foot gently and Blair didn't have a clue how to respond. Verbally that is. His body was dead certain. 

Jim lifted Blair's foot to his mouth and sucked on the big toe. He lifted it a little higher and licked the arch. He bit the heel and sucked on the Achilles tendon. Blair's brain left the building. He knew there were words out there. Words like: 'Jim is a foot fetishist?', 'Why is Jim licking my feet?' and 'Oh my God, I'm going to come in my pants' but he couldn't find them. There was a word for this. It could have been aphasia but it was just as likely to be avocado. 

Then he wondered if he had zoned - one minute Jim was sitting at the end of the couch making whoopee with his foot, now Jim was leaning over him hands to either side of his head and knees to either side of Blair's thighs. 

"Take off your shirt, Blair." 

Sure, he could do that. Hardly able to breathe he had his shirt half undone when he had an X Files moment and regained his voice. "It is you, isn't it Jim, not your evil twin or anything?" 

"Take off your shirt," Jim insisted, smiling at him. What a wicked, wicked smile Jim had. 

Wriggling out of the shirt brought him into contact with Jim's body. 

Jim looked more than simply pleased to see his bare chest. He dipped his head low and rubbed his cheek over Blair's chest hair, licked a nipple. "Jim." 

"I was pretty disappointed to discover you didn't really have a nipple ring," Jim said, shifting to the other nipple to suck it for a moment. Blair thought it was a good thing Jim was on top or he'd be floating towards the ceiling. He could scarcely concentrate on what Jim was saying. 

"Now take my shirt off. Blair," Jim bit the lobe of his ear to get his attention. "Blair, take my shirt off." 

Blair ran his hands down the tee shirt covered chest. "Wall," he thought to himself. He pulled it out of Jim's trousers and pushed it up, touching, actually touching Jim's soft skin, feeling it's warmth, the hard muscle underneath, ribs, armpits. Jim helped by balancing on one hand, then the other as Blair undressed him. 

Blair ran his hands over Jim's bare chest, fingers drawn to Jim's sweet brown nipples. Blair hadn't known before how much he loved that shade of brown: caramel, chocolate, and cinnamon. 

"Take off your pants." 

"Pants?" Blair managed to say. 

Jim was rubbing his face on Blair's chest again. "Yes. Get 'em off, Sandburg." 

"This isn't a joke, is it? Because if ten guys burst in here and yell surprise, I'm going to be a bit upset." 

Jim rubbed the tip of his nose across Blair's nipples. 

"Chief, if anyone bursts in here now, their bodies will never, ever, ever be found." His eyes met Blair's. "And if you don't get 'em off now, neither will yours." God, did Jim know how to deliver a threat with promise. 

He could feel impatience threatening the spell Jim had him under. He fumbled his trousers, getting his feet caught in a tangle. 

"Take it easy, Blair." Lips against his throat, along his jaw. 

He pushed the trousers and shorts off and kicked them away from his feet. He lay naked under Jim and between his thighs. 

He looked up at Jim, like Nut stretched over him, like the whole sky. He thought of an appalling Milky Way pun and managed to suppress slightly hysterical laughter. He was scared and turned on and bewildered and completely out of his depth. Jim kissed him. He tasted Jim's mouth, beer and pizza, and felt the way Jim savoured him. Soft lips, soft tongue gently exploring his mouth. He ran his hands up Jim's arms, the muscles flexed, holding Jim up. Jim is doing push ups on me, he thought. His hips jerked, rubbing his cock against Jim's pants. 

Jim broke their kiss. "Take mine off, too," he whispered, husky and low against Blair's mouth. 

Blair's hands moved unerringly to Jim's fly, while his mind was still lagging behind, not parsing Jim's words. He undid the fly button and undid the zip, feeling Jim hard underneath soft cotton. He tried to think 'I have my hand on Jim's penis' but that part of his brain wasn't working either. Jim pushed into his hands. He didn't want to let go to finish undressing Jim, but he also wanted to get as skin to skin close as was ever possible for two people. He shivered and Jim moaned. 

"Please, Blair, please..." 

In a few short shoves Jim was naked and pressing his hips to Blair's. They were cock to cock, their pubic hair catching each others, Jim's balls soft on his, Jim arching over him and crying out and coming and then he was too. The world exploded and reformed and when the dust settled, Jim was lying in his arms and his belly was sticky and his toes tingled and he didn't think anything could ever be the same again. 

The End. 

* * *

End 

The Foot Massage and the Anthropologist by Vera: copracat@yahoo.com  
Author and story notes above.

Disclaimer: _The Sentinel_ is owned etc. by Pet Fly, Inc. These pages and the stories on them are not meant to infringe on, nor are they endorsed by, Pet Fly, Inc. and Paramount. 


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